


Thunderstorms

by PrayTheGayAway



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Mild Language, Tuckington - Freeform, comforting Tucker, panicking Wash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2693450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrayTheGayAway/pseuds/PrayTheGayAway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker fucking hates thunderstorms, but Wash hates them more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstorms

Tucker fucking hates thunderstorms.

It’s not like they scare him or anything, but rather that they always wake him up. Always, no matter what fucking time it is. This storm in particular isn't any different, and Tucker was pissed about it. It was four in the goddamn morning and he can’t sleep because of the constant noises coming from the great outdoors.

The young man lets out a long weary sigh as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He knows that he’s not going to get any sleep with the storm going on, so the soldier decided that he may as well find something to do.  He’s just lucky that Caboose is fine with thunderstorms and is a deep sleeper. Tucker wouldn’t know what to do with the guy if he wasn’t.

Tucker silently makes his way to the kitchen in order to raid the pantry. The dark skinned man knows that Wash has firm rules about rations, but at that moment the soldier couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck about it. He’s irritated, hungry, and tired all because he can’t fucking sleep. Naturally, Tucker thinks he has the right to give himself a little treat. Then he remembers that they don’t actually have anything goddamn snacky.

At all.

“Jesus fucking Christ, this sucks.” The man with chocolate skin remarks.

He almost slams the door shut before remembering his teammates are actually sleeping. The soldier lets out an angry huff before walking back towards to his own quarters. Tucker stops as he hears a whimper follow a particularly loud rumble.

“What the-?” The room is Washington’s; which doesn’t make sense because the freelancer is fucking terrifying, not someone that gets terrified. Plus he’s surrounded by a war which has a lot of noises that sound like thunder and he hasn’t seen him flinch once. It just doesn’t add up. He probably just imagined it anyway.

He’s about to turn away when there’s another boom of thunder, followed by another unmistakable yelp. _‘Goddammit,’_ Tucker thinks, _‘what is he doing?’_

He’s already through the door before he can even think about stopping himself. The sight that meets the soldier makes his heart wrench.

Wash is curled up into an impossibly tiny ball with his hands covering his ears. His shock of blonde hair is the only telling part about him in that position. His entire body is shaking to the point where he’s even shaking the bed with his tremors. The terrified man remains silent, save for the sound of unsteady breaths and the occasional whimper. Suddenly the lightning strikes, causing the man to yelp and attempt to curl in on himself even more.

It takes Tucker only a moment before he can get himself to move again. He didn’t really know what he was expecting to see, but it wasn’t this. He carefully makes his way over to the freelancer until he’s at the bed. The dark skinned man stops there, unsure of what to do.

“Er, Wash?” The soldier tries, speaking softly.

Washington flinches at the sound of his voice and curls even tighter, if at all possible, into himself.

“Go away.”

There isn’t any conviction behind the command. It’s weak and it’s obvious that he isn’t even trying. Not that Tucker would actually leave anyway. His fatherly concerns are kicking in. That or he actually has morals.

“No.”

 He crawls cautiously into the bed and moves them around so that Tucker has Wash’s trembling body tucked into his arms.

Wash doesn’t even hesitate as he turns himself around so that he’s pressed against Tucker’s chest. He’s clutching at the fabric of the aqua shirt now instead of his bed sheets. Another crack echoes through his room and he yelps into the chest his face is pressed against.

“It’s only thunder.” He’s trying to be helpful at least.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” The man Tucker’s hold snaps, the grip on his shirt tightening.

Tucker has to stop himself from making a snappy retort. For some reason he doesn’t think that would help.  He settles for a mental sigh. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy or anything like that. “So… Thunderstorms, huh?” Maybe humor would be the way to go. If he’s lucky, that is.

“Tucker, shut the fuck up or I swear to God that I will murder you once this is over.”

 _‘Okay so humor is not the way to go.’_ Tucker thought, a frown firmly on his face.

“Hey,” he says slowly, trying again, “I’m sorry. I just want to help.” And, oddly enough, it’s true.

The soldier blames his fatherly insistence on wanting to help the freelancer, but pushes the thought aside when he sees said freelancer shift in his arms, almost like the man was getting comfortable.

“…Thanks.” The reply is slow and hesitant. The shaking even reduced fractionally.

As the next strike of lightning hits, he begins to rub circles into Wash’s back. The dark skinned man was reminded that his mother used to do it to him when he was scared. He honestly had no fucking clue what he’s attempting to do, but it seemed to be working so the man continues.

“Is there anything that helps?” Tucker offers, voice still hesitant. Wash tightens his hold on the other man and grunts his reply.

“Just distract me.” The reply is short and desperate.

Tucker nods and a frown works its way on his face, merely for a second while he thought of ways to distract the panicked man. He used to tell stories to Junior whenever he was upset. Fuck, would that even work with this situation? It was all he could come up with so the soldier hoped it better. He didn’t have any stories except for his own so he supposed that he would have to go with those.

For the next hour or so Tucker spoke about his life.

He told the pale freelancer mostly about some of his more amusing memories. Those were the easiest to remember as well as to tell. Wash never once laughed, but he did grow more relaxed as time went on. Though, that may have been partly due to the fact that the thunderstorm was receding.

Tucker stops talking once he realizes that Wash has fallen asleep. He wishes that the freckled face was visible. He probably would look adorable. Not that he’s been noticing or anything.

His musings are interrupted by a large yawn which reminds him of his own tiredness. It wasn’t that he forgot as much as he was distracted. It’s funny how little things managed to slip away when one was busy.

The storm was only a faint noise off in the distance; hardly enough to keep him awake anymore. Tucker moves both of them around until he’s in a more comfortable position. His arms are still wrapped around Wash, but Wash is now laying over him more than next to him. He would remove himself entirely, but he isn’t sure how the agent would react to that.

Speaking of reactions; he was not expecting any of this at all. Wash was supposed to be this fearless figure, yet he couldn’t remember anybody look so afraid in his entire life. He has a feeling that there’s more to it than what meets the eye, but is too tired to really process it. He’ll have the time to think about it later.

Tucker finally lets his eyes slide shut as the urge to sleep becomes too much. Even a very important thought isn’t enough to pull him from the edge.

_‘This is the first time I’ve ever seen Wash without any armor on.’_


End file.
